Expressed
by Manigault
Summary: A PwF and ItB post ep from Grissoms POV


Title: Expressed  
  
By: Manigault  
  
Disclaimer: These characters belong to CBS, Anthony Zuicker, Atlantic Alliance Theater and the characters who portray them.  
  
Spoilers: Post PwF and ItB  
  
Note: This is a kind of sequel to my last fic Express. R & R are always appreciated. If you haven't read that then, well you don't have too .  
  
Side Note: This is a bit choppy, I hope it's readable. Please R & R! Thanks in advance!  
  
"I do. You know, by the time you figure it out you really could be too late."  
  
Grissom watched Sara leave, his mind clicking as it attempted to process the weight of her words.  
  
He stepped outside of the lab and into the thick Vegas air, his hearing a non issue as he moved with robotic steps towards his Tahoe. Pausing beside his car, Grissom's eyes lifted with instinctive attention to focus on the dark head of the one whose voice was echoing inside his mind. He wondered what she was thinking as she leaned back against the seat, her eyes squeezed tight. Was she regretting her outburst as she considered the consequences of her last statement? He could not help but wonder if she knew what she was asking when she made the suggestion they share a dinner and see what happened. Did she think that he did not know what would happen if he were to subject himself to her in this mood she was currently entertaining? All of these thoughts stormed through his mind even as he saw her eyes snap open and narrow onto his face, her expression one he did not want to contemplate. He watched as she backed her car out of the parking space with an angry twist of the hand, leaving him staring at the taillights while a strange yearning grew within his chest.  
  
Grissom's apartment was lonely and cold as he stepped into the foyer and shut the door, his eyes focusing on the stack of papers clutched within his hand. He tossed the stack on the counter and wondered what his day would have been like if he had told Sara he would like to have dinner with her, alone, in his town home. He would have cooked for her something fit for a vegetarian. Did she still eat fish? With a shake of his head, his eyes wandered to a small white card that lay on the floor. The card from his rolodex must have floated from the stack of papers when he tossed them onto the counter. The essential reason he could not tell Sara that he wanted to have dinner with her, tonight, or any night.  
  
He picked up the card with one hand and the phone with the other as he dialed the number that would give him an opportunity to retain what was left of his hearing. The idea of telling Sara about his hearing, about his surgery, flashed into and then out of his head almost as quickly. With a deep sigh he scheduled an appointment before walking slowly to his couch where he decided to fight off the migraine that was threatening to consume him almost as deeply as Sara's words.  
  
He was sad that another good policeman was gone. Shot by a coward in order to steal some material object from within the banks vault. He tried to picture the scenario that had cost the life of Officer Lockwood, and was startled when he felt a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back to reality. Turning he barely saw Catherine standing beside him, questioning him, as his eyes took in Warrick, Nick, and Sara who was avoiding eye contact. Of all the times for it to bother him, it did so more than he wanted to admit.  
  
"Sara, you're with me." He said as he brushed past her, keeping his eyes away from taking in her expression, and yet wondering if she would call him on it.  
  
They worked inside the box like structure, the chaos giving them common ground to work within. They ebbed in unison, their thoughts now set on making sense of the nightmare that had led to a good officer's demise. He left Sara knowing she would put the mess into some kind of order that would lend them clues to solving this crime.  
  
When he returned to the bank with Catherine, the trust he had put in her was proven, as he expected it to be. But before he could tell her how remarkable her precision had been, Catherine beat him to the punch. The smile that spread over Sara's face was not for him, and the thought irked him in a way that made him scowl. He approached the center box, focusing on the problem at hand, but the when he turned he made a conscious point of staring at Sara. Only the object of his stare was studiously avoiding looking at him, talking instead to Catherine who was complimenting the work she had accomplished in such a short period of time.  
  
"You've already told her what a wonderful job she did, Catherine." He was surprised at the shortness of his words. The two women must have been as well for one glared at him and the other appeared stunned. 'I'm sorry.' Was on the tip of his tongue, but he could not bring himself to say the words. Instead, he made a lame comment about getting back to the lab to continue processing the evidence.  
  
Nick ordered Chinese food for everyone and Grissom quickly noticed how Sara had abandoned her usual chair to his right to sit two chairs away from him. He glanced around and wondered if anyone else noticed. Instead of dwelling on Sara's attitude, he focused on solving the puzzle of what was wrapped inside of the cloth. He stared at the fortune cookie in his hand when a light bulb went on in his head. His eagerness to leave the table was propelled by more than the theory that drove him.  
  
He wanted to tell Sara about his surgery. He told Catherine, instead, thinking it would take her mind off her new found problems and give her some relief to know that he was doing something about his hearing problem. He spit out the facts, his nerves shot from everything that had happened in the past few months and then he left knowing that it had solved nothing.  
  
The surgery was eminent and Grissom sat on the table, trying to prepare himself for the ordeal that awaited him, and wondering if it would provide any comfort. He was surprised to see Catherine appear in the doorway, and admitted to himself, that for a second, only a flash of a second he was disappointed it wasn't a brunette head that appeared in the doorway. Refusing the wheelchair, he started past Catherine when she reached out to hug him. He permitted the hug, and for that second was thankful for a friend that cared enough to give him the encouragement to see this surgery through.  
  
He thanked her for being there before easing away from her and walking down the hall, the weight of his decisions still heavy on his shoulders. His thoughts ebbed between the outcome of the surgery and the sound of Sara's voice echoing in his mind.  
  
"You could be too late."  
  
The End. 


End file.
